


Asseveration

by silver_fish



Series: ASLD Modern AU Epic [5]
Category: A Saga of Light and Dark - T. J. Chamberlain, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: Adrienne remembers the first time she said that word aloud and really meant it.Abuse. Even years later, she doesn't like saying it. She knows Adonis won't be any different, but he has something she never did: someone who really, truly understands what it means.
Relationships: Adonis Archer & Adrienne Cherri Smith, Adrienne Cherri Smith/Ely Smith
Series: ASLD Modern AU Epic [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982833
Kudos: 1





	Asseveration

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> nobody dies everyone lives and some of these disaster characters even go to therapy! adrienne would never admit to being abused in canon (adonis gets there. we're proud of him for that. but he's still a little iffy lmaooo) but if ely had lived and she had had some resources, then...maybe. it would be good for her, but, alas, canon 'verse adrienne doesnt know any of whats good for her at all.
> 
> the series notes has a more comprehensive timeline for this modern AU if you're interested in reading that, and i will eventually get to writing the context around this fic, but the important info here is adonis has just left cleo (bc avery forced him to by threatening to press charges for child abuse and negligence against him as well as cleo) and so he and ada and avery have just recently moved to be a lil closer to the smiths... ada's 14 around this time, so adonis would be like 38 and adrienne about 35. i think adrienne probably started working through her own shit Properly when nerissa was 5/6, so i guess it's been nearly a decade for her? anyway, here in the bg we have avery and ely bonding for the first time and they're spending a lot of time with nerissa, ada, and poseidon while adrienne tries to help adonis admit cleo was abusive, and not just to ada, either.
> 
> so yeah! big theme here is abuse, so please do be cautious of that. it's all only referenced, but there's physical, verbal, and emotional abuse. references to suicidal ideation and suicide threats, gaslighting, neglect sort of? and implied self-harm and definitely a lot of mental health things that aren’t being named, necessarily. should be everything and it's all only discussed, but please tread carefully!

The little corner café is busy today, full of, it would seem, chattering students. It is the middle of the afternoon, Adrienne supposes, and it’s one of the first cold ones of fall too. A warm drink isn’t such a bad idea, considering.

The drinks she’s juggling are for an entirely different purpose, though. And not coffee, goodness no. She hasn’t drunk coffee in a place like this since _she_ was a student—or student-aged, at least. Besides, caffeine isn’t going to help anything. Tea, though…she remembers Emerson saying often, things like “Tea is the cure for all woes,” which is why Adrienne hates tea so much now, probably. Maybe hot chocolate or cider is a little more juvenile, but she doesn’t mind too terribly, anymore, if someone calls her such.

Adonis wouldn’t say anything like that anyway, least of all because he’s too in his own head right now to judge. Actually, that might make him a little _more_ critical, she has to admit; he has been like this since they were children, offensively defensive. She could not count on two hands the number of times he made Avery cry over the smallest, most inconsequential things.

This isn’t inconsequential, though, and Adrienne won’t cry if he lashes out at her. It would be hypocritical, and she is many terrible things, but a _hypocrite_ isn’t one of them.

Their table is tucked into the far corner of the room, relatively secluded. It is actually a favoured spot of Ely’s, a place he goes when home is too difficult to focus in. He suggested it because he thought being in public might help Adonis—he is, after all, very aware of his public image—but it still offers a decent amount of privacy.

“Do you wish you’d done that more often with me?” she wondered.

“Sort of,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it would’ve made much of a difference with you, honestly. You would’ve made a scene whether we had an audience or not.” He paused, mulling this over, and then added, “Actually, you’re a little _more_ likely to make a scene in public, I’d say.”

She really couldn’t contest that, but he never says these things like it’s _bad_.

This, Adrienne thinks as she sets their cups on the table, is not really a bad thing either.

“Thank you,” Adonis mutters. “I could have paid.”

She sits down, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t care. It’s been a long time since I was that worried about money.”

“You aren’t exactly wealthy, though.”

“I guess it’s something about how the happiest people are actually the wealthiest, right?” She leans back and considers him through narrowed eyes. “I’d say you’re a pretty good example of a very rich man who is really rather poor.”

He laughs, lightly, but she knows he does not find it funny in the slightest.

“Let’s talk about it, then,” she says. “Whatever shitty thoughts you’re thinking.”

He looks away from her. “I don’t know if I _want_ to speak those things.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way,” she presses. “You know, I didn’t think so either, but it’s _true_. You were a victim of something horrible and—”

“I wasn’t a victim.” His hand curls around the cup, white-knuckled.

Her lips twitch up slightly. “Yeah, you were. That’s why it pisses you off so much when I say it. She told you that you weren’t a victim—maybe she told you _she_ was the real victim—and you internalized it, because victims aren’t supposed to love their abusers, but you still love her. Even now.”

“She made mistakes. That is not a crime.”

“Abusing your spouse and daughter, though…”

“She didn’t _abuse_ anybody,” he snaps. “You’ve been talking to Avery too much, she’s been putting these horrid ideas in your head—”

“That’s not true. I’ve hardly talked to Avery about this at all, actually.” She takes a short, thoughtful sip of cider, and then says, “But she doesn’t know what to do for you, either. The thing is, Adonis…this isn’t going to get any _easier_. Probably ever. But if you can call the thing what it is, you’ll feel better.”

“The ‘thing’ was not abuse.”

“Walk me through your typical day at home with Cleo and Ada, then,” she suggests. “How does it all go?”

He sighs. “I sincerely doubt it’s atypical from _your_ day.”

“Want to bet?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Well, I’ll tell you anyway.” She straightens up, working to keep her expression steady. “I wake up in the morning, well before the kids, but Ely always wakes up with me. He makes breakfast. He’s done it every single day since we were married, you know, except when he’s been too sick or tired, and then I’ll do it for him. Because that’s what we do for our partners, you know. We help them when they need it.”

“Cleo helped with chores and such often,” he points out.

“But here’s the thing. Me and Ely, we don’t _argue_ about these things. Sometimes I get a little mad at him because the floor hasn’t been vacuumed by the time I get home, I’ll admit. But then I think about that, and I think—that’s kind of stupid, because it obviously just means _he_ was busy, or he’s a little too tired, and then I’ll probably just do it for him instead. What would Cleo have done in my place?”

“Well, she would have been angry, but we certainly would have reached an understanding with one another.”

“And whose ‘understanding’ was the right one?”

He scowls. “Hers, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean she wasn’t always right?”

“Well, yes. The things she said made _sense_.”

Adrienne shakes her head. “Nobody’s right all the time. Even me,” she adds, jokingly, “though I _am_ right most of the time.”

“ _That_ surely can’t be true,” he says, and she laughs.

“It’s not,” she concedes. “And sometimes I think I’m right about something, but I’m really just being a jerk, you know? Ely knows, you know…I’m not a perfect person. I didn’t have a very good example growing up. He loves me anyway, but he doesn’t put up with shit from me either. And if I started, you know, picking fights with him all the time, or _hitting_ him, God forbid, then he would take the kids and he would leave. We made this agreement a long time ago. I trust he’ll stay true to it, and in turn…he trusts that I’ll try my best to do better than my mother ever did.”

He says nothing, and she sighs, slumping forward slightly. “I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, you know. It’s not—it’s not _easy_ to get out of something like that, and Ada, you know…she has all my sympathy, and maybe I _do_ kind of think you made some pretty big mistakes about all of this, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were her target first. And she hurt you badly. And you never even noticed.”

“It’s not like we never discussed it,” he says quietly. “It’s not like I never fought back, either. But she loves me, or she used to, at least. She loves Ada too, she _does_.”

Adrienne reaches across the table and rests her hand over his. His grip on the cup loosens, then falls away entirely.

“Some days I still think I can reconcile with my mother,” Adrienne tells him. “And she’s…you know, she’s reached out to _me_ before, and then I think—she’s doing this because she loves me, and she wants to change and do better, but it’s never true. I’ll spend weeks after that just…so sad, or angry, and Ely never says ‘I told you so’ after, but he does tell me so. Every single time, but I never _stop_ thinking there’s a chance at something. I think she loves me, and I _know_ I love her. She did horrible things to me. That doesn’t take away everything else we ever shared.”

He pulls his hand away from hers, head bowed, shoulders tense. “She never _meant_ to hurt me.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s easier to tell yourself that, because otherwise it’s just too painful, right? I don’t think you’re weak, Adonis. I don’t even think you’re misguided, exactly. But I do know how you feel. And it fucking sucks. You know what I did after I left home?”

His tone is bitter when he mutters, “Better than I did, clearly.”

“No, not at all. See, because—I thought we could figure things out together, but then…if the choice was between them or Ely, of course I chose Ely. I sometimes don’t understand how he can stand to love a person like me, and I _definitely_ don’t understand how he could have possibly loved me before I started figuring all this shit out. I was weepy and rage-y, and he never left. He didn’t leave after I had Nerissa and I got so depressed I started thinking we’d all be better off dead, and he didn’t leave me when I picked up where Mother left off, you know—it’s horrible, like I never stopped thinking I _deserve_ to hurt, and it was always the same way too, like if she would put my hand against the stovetop for trying to get her attention when she was doing something else, then—if I started feeling like I needed help, that was just how I would fix it. Because we were older, you know, and we had kids, so it’s not like he could just deal with my issues for me all the time.”

She pauses briefly, sighs, and then admits, “I don’t think I would’ve made it alone. I was miserable. I hated myself. Most days, I still do. On some level, I’m exactly what my mother made me into, and I probably always will be, but…I learned to live away from her. I got to understand how it feels to have a family and truly _love_ them. No conditions. No exceptions. Whether you washed the dishes while she was gone or not, because why in the world should something like that dictate how much _you’re_ worth?”

She doesn’t know when he started tearing up. Doesn’t know when he started crying, even, when it is so difficult to see his face beneath the café’s dull light and the small cover of his hair, but she does know that it is because he doesn’t _want_ her to see, and she gets it, because she’s been there a hundred times too.

“You’re not _weak_ ,” she says. “You’re pretty damn strong, actually. You spent nearly twenty years with her. Half your life devoted to being the husband _she_ wanted. But that person can’t exist, and that person sure as hell isn’t _you_. You can’t just ‘get over’ shit like this. It took me thirty _years_ to call my mother abusive. Even now, it’s like—it feels like a _dirty_ word, like I’m saying she’s a bad person and admitting _I’m_ a _weak_ person, but it’s not that at all. Being a victim doesn’t mean anything _bad_. It’s just… It happened, and you got screwed over, and it hurts.”

He lifts his head slightly, scowling, and wipes at his eyes. “Well, if I’m not her husband, who am I? I don’t feel like I’m _anyone_ right now. I can’t even—be a father, and I certainly am no one’s brother, or son.”

“Yeah. Because you spent twenty years being told you can only be someone’s husband, and now you’re not.”

“I love her. I know she loved me too.”

“Love doesn’t matter,” Adrienne tells him. “What matters is patience, and understanding. It’s—devotion, and _everything_ that comes along with it. You _are_ Ada’s father, Adonis. You’re Avery’s brother, and Amery’s too. You are still someone’s son. You’re _more_ than what Cleo wanted you to be.”

His efforts to rid himself of his tears are pointless. He is, she thinks, far too like her. They were not so similar as children, no, not so much… Now, though, she cannot help wondering if how she feels now is how Ely felt all those times she fell apart over her childhood, most especially when they were in their early twenties. Maybe she’ll have to thank him when she gets back home, but she files that thought away for later; right now, she just has to try to be as patient with Adonis as Ely ever was with her.

“She hurt our daughter,” he finally manages. “Really hurt her— _badly_ —I know it’s true, but I _still_ —” He stops, inhaling sharply and gripping at the edge of the table as if to anchor himself. “Dammit, I still think I would rather be with her than here with Ada, and I know—I should _not_.”

She shrugs. “So what? Those are your feelings. It’s fine to feel that way. The point is that you _are_ here. Even if it’s the harder choice, you’re here. You’re trying to get your shit together for her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be conflicted.” She pauses, thinks about this for a moment, then chuckles. “Jeez, that’d be the day _I_ start giving advice about this sort of stuff, huh? You know, all I’m trying to say is that Ely was there for me, but as understanding as he is, he’ll never _actually_ understand this. The way he looks sometimes if I talk about some of the things that happened to me as a kid…it makes me feel horrible. And Avery—she wants to help you, more than anything. She’s really concerned for you, actually, but I’m the one who’s sitting here with you right now because for a long time I wasn’t anything but _someone’s daughter_ , and on my worst days, I still think that’s all I am.”

“I do not— _want_ to be…”

“I know,” she says. “God, I get it. I fucking hate myself for the shit I think about her sometimes. I think about Nerissa and Poseidon, and I don’t understand how I could possibly want to bring this woman back into my life when she would probably just hurt them too. And sometimes _I_ hurt them, and that’s way worse. Sometimes I yell at them and then I go to pieces over it, because I always said I’d never act like her, but they shouldn’t be the ones apologizing to _me_ over that, so we—you know, we _talk_ about it, and Ely’s, like, he’s there to give me that little nudge when I’m doing it all wrong, but this is still my thing and he gets it, so it’s something I have to be open with the kids about because _I_ want to be. I’m never going to tell them the things that happened to me, I don’t think. But they’ll understand why I do the things I do sometimes. It’s not an excuse, though, so…that’s what apologies are for.”

In his silence, she considers him briefly, then tries, “It’s obvious that Ada doesn’t hate you for staying, even if maybe she did sometimes resent you. I mean, you’d have to be blind not to see that she adores you. And we can’t doubt her intelligence, either. She’s fourteen. She understands this stuff. She _lived_ it with you. It’s not weak for you to talk to her about it, but first…first, you have to be able to name the thing, or it’ll never work.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he whispers. “Maybe…maybe to Ada, yes, but _me_ …”

“Did she hit you?”

He inhales loudly, quickly, and looks pointedly away from her. “Not often, no. She never wanted me to retaliate, but I wouldn’t have. She’s not fragile, but she is still much smaller than me.”

“But she hit Ada.”

“I didn’t know.” His voice is…small, like a scared child’s. It is perhaps the worst part for Adrienne; what was Adonis to her, growing up? Always the strong one, the older brother, mature and responsible—even when he _wasn’t_ , exactly, he always _seemed_ like it.

Right now, he does not seem like it at all.

“Maybe,” she says, “it’s not my place to say this, but…I think you need to just—forget about that right now. Give yourself some grace. Yeah, you made mistakes, but focussing on everything you did wrong isn’t going to do you any good right now. Forgive yourself for not noticing. Forgive yourself for being blinded by your feelings for Cleo. Like, forget what Avery might have said, or about the circumstances of everything. Even if she is right that you did poorly too, whatever. Forget about all of that. You spent damn near twenty years believing something that wasn’t _true_.”

“I don’t deserve—”

“This isn’t about deserving,” Adrienne cuts in. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to some shit about how much you hate yourself, because I _know_ you do. That’s what Cleo wanted. _That’s_ what abusers _do_. You learned the only way to feel fulfilled is by doing the things she wanted you to do, or that she thought were right, and now you’re doing the exact _opposite_ of all that and you feel like you don’t have any _worth_. But fuck that. Your worth is deeper than that. You have worth because you’re _alive_ , and you’re a fucking _person_. You have feelings and you’re _allowed_ to feel them.”

His gaze falls down to his tea. It is no longer steaming, but he hasn’t touched it at all since Adrienne started talking.

And then he says, “All I feel is that I still love her. I don’t know how to stop.”

“Then stop trying to stop. That’s not all you feel, either. Let’s be honest here, Adonis.”

“I…” He falters, but he does not try to complete the thought; he grabs the cup and drinks from it, as if it will keep him from having to confront what’s right in front of him.

“We’re not the same people,” Adrienne says after a moment, when he sets it down again. He still isn’t looking at her, but that doesn’t matter. “So what you’re feeling won’t be the same as what I felt. But...when I was twenty years old, I felt like it was _my_ fault. I felt like the way I had left things—I felt it was my responsibility to fix it, just like it’d been my responsibility to fix everything my whole life. But I felt angry too. And sad. I cried all the time, just thinking about her. Sometimes, I hated Ely and his family so much, because I was _jealous_. No matter how many times Moira and Cyril call me _their_ daughter, I wasn’t then and I’m not now. No amount of—homecooked meals, or tight hugs, or anything—none of those now can negate the lack of what I got as a kid.

“And, you know, after we got married…I don’t know if I went a single day without telling Ely I hated him, or I wanted him to leave, or I didn’t _deserve_ him. And then I always felt worse, because I love him and I can’t live without him, but that last part—that _still_ feels like the truth, and so I think…I think I must be the most selfish woman in the world, or I think I’m _manipulative_ and maybe I have become just as abusive as my mother ever was but he’s like I was, convinced that there’s nothing wrong because he’s too in love with me to admit something possibly could be. I feel stupid. I feel ungrateful. I feel disgusting. I feel like I deserve to hurt over it, and I spent a lot of years _actually_ hurting myself over it—and not just physically, either. I told myself the same shit I was told growing up, that I’m pathetic and useless, and I’d get so in my head about it that if someone tried to tell me I wasn’t, I’d just _yell_ at them. Push them away, because I didn’t want anybody to take me out of that. I _deserved_ to be told those things and feel that way.”

Adonis shakes his head. “If Cleo ever hurt me, it was not intentional. She…she never treated me like _that_.”

Adrienne rolls her eyes. “Use your head. You think _Katina Cherri_ was ever that outright? It was just in everything _else_ she said and did. You send a kid to her room without dinner, because she complained about something, or cried about something, or asked a question you didn’t like. What message can that possibly send other than that you think she’s not deserving of something _life-sustaining_ because she did something you think is _pitiful_? I mean, think this through. _Really_ think about it. How did Cleo talk to you? How did she treat you when you _weren’t_ her perfect husband?”

“She was… She was angry often,” he says, very quietly. “But never for very long, of course. Once I apologized, she was kinder.”

“Once you apologized.”

“Yes.”

“And what would you apologize for?”

“Whatever I had done to make her angry, I suppose.”

“Any examples?”

He is silent for a moment, perhaps considering this, and then: “Unfinished chores, like you said before. Dinner, sometimes—she didn’t always like the way I made things, or if I ever cooked something other than what she suggested we ought to have. Work, too, I suppose… She came home irritated, and she did not always like to be asked after, but sometimes she was more angry if I did not ask questions… But she was very stressed, you know. When work was less stressful, she was better.”

Adrienne nodded. “All right, sure. What did _you_ do when work was stressful?”

“Nothing, really. It wasn’t her fault or Ada’s, so I saw no point in bringing my frustrations to them. It wasn’t as if they could solve the problems.”

“You notice the contradiction in what you just said, don’t you?”

“It’s _different_ —”

“It’s not, though. You couldn’t solve her problems. You had nothing to do with what was going on at work.”

He looks up at her, now, gaze hard. “She was just stressed, and then I did things that made it worse. You sound like Avery, Adrienne. You’re blowing it out of proportion.”

“I don’t think I am. Actually, I think _you’re_ minimizing the problem. And you’re rationalizing it. No person has a right to make you feel badly just because _she_ feels badly. And if she did do that— _you_ shouldn’t be the one apologizing. If I came to you and I said Ely did exactly what you just told me Cleo did, what would you think?”

“Well, I would agree it is unfair, but it’s hardly _abusive_.”

“What if I said it happened every day?”

“It _didn’t_ happen every day.”

She arches an eyebrow up at him. “Didn’t it? Then, what about the good days? What made those so good?”

“If she was pleased about something at work, maybe. Or she just…woke up that way, I suppose. Lately, if she felt Ada was getting along with her.”

“And—what is it? Like a one-to-one? Two good days to one bad day? Other way around?”

He sighs, reaching up and pinching his nose in obvious exasperation. She supposes, if he is like her at all, then he is now going from _weepy_ to _rage-y_.

“I don’t _know_ ,” he says, dropping his hand again. “You want me to—what? Admit that I have spent the last— _twenty years_ walking on eggshells because I am so pathetic a man I fear my own wife?”

“Well, don’t you?”

He looks away from her, scowling.

“You’re not pathetic for it, though,” she adds, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at him. “My mother liked that word a lot, you know. _Pathetic_. Ely hates it, though. Like I said it so many times, now even if one of the kids says it, he just gets this _look_ , like he’s mad about something. And he doesn’t get mad about much, you know. But that—yeah. Because I’m not pathetic at all, and neither are you. Cry about it, yell about it—whatever. It doesn’t change the truth.”

“Which is?”

She smiles. “That you’re one the strongest people I know. That Avery and Ada know. I always did think so, even if I thought you were an idiot most of the time too.”

“Am I being an idiot now?”

“No. You aren’t.” She crosses her arms over the table and considers him for a long moment. “You know, Adonis…I spent a lot of years thinking what happened to me was my fault, that it was justified, that maybe if your parents had done that to Avery I would have been appalled but it’s _different_ if it’s me. And then I had kids. And I remember Nerissa, she must have been about five or so—I remember coming home one day after work and I was exhausted but she wouldn’t stop bugging me and I said things to her that _I_ remember hearing when I was five. Ely was with Poseidon. He didn’t hear it. But Nerissa…she cried and she cried and she cried until he came, and I did _nothing_. Just stood there, staring at her, feeling like the worst person in the world, and the only thing I’d even said to her was that if she didn’t stop bothering me while I was trying to make dinner then I’d send her to her room without any.”

He blinks in disbelief. “And that made her cry like that?”

“She’s always been pretty dramatic,” Adrienne muses. “But I don’t think she _was_ being dramatic that time, because, for her, it had nothing to do with the words. It was how I’d said them. For _me_ , though…I freaked out, I told him I would leave and I wouldn’t come back, and he said to me, like, you know, that’s _stupid_ , because I could still fix it, so we talked to her together and I said sorry and it never happened again. But _after_ that, later, when she couldn’t see it, I was a total mess. I was inconsolable and I was a total bitch about it too. I told him I still wanted to leave, because it would probably happen again, but it’s not like I really _did_ want to leave. Just thought I ought to, so I couldn’t hurt the kids ever again. Anyway, he didn’t let me go. He talked me into therapy instead, which I really hated, but…it helped too, a lot. Sometimes he’d come with me too. I mean, he’s great, and he does a lot, but it’s like I said—he doesn’t actually _understand_. Having someone else talk about it, like, clinically…that helped both of us. A lot.”

“And that’s why you brought me here?” He shakes his head, snorts. “If you’re suggesting I go to therapy, don’t bother. Avery mentions it at least once a day, assuredly.”

“I’m not suggesting that. But if I was, then, actually, I’d be suggesting you _and_ Ada go. Together.”

“What?”

“Well, think about it. She doesn’t have a problem calling it abuse, does she?”

“I wish she would not.”

Adrienne laughs. “Yeah, I was like that too. Even Amery was quick to start saying that word, and that was like some kind of betrayal, because she _knew_ my mother. At least when Ely said it, I could tell myself he only thought that because he’d never met her. But Ada _lived_ with you, so—firstly, that’s going to leave a lot of damage. Even if she’s not that old now. Secondly…she _saw_ it. You can’t lean on her, because she’s a kid. But you can and should talk about it with her. We owe our children that sort of honesty, right? We never tried to keep it a secret from our kids, but I think Nerissa’s only really, like, _understanding_ it now, right? But trying to pretend I wasn’t abused so she’ll think I’m strong or whatever…that’s just ridiculous. In your case, I think the only way Ada _will_ think you’re strong is if you face it.”

He is quiet for a long while. She pulls back a bit and drinks the rest of her cider, though it is lukewarm at best by now. Even then, though, he is still chewing on her words, processing… The temptation to speak into the silence is large, but she knows it will do no good; as it is, she has already spent too much time today talking. The subject of her own past is exhausting as ever, but the weight of Adonis’s denial is, in many ways, that much worse.

And then, finally, he says, “She hit me.”

Adrienne frowns. “Yeah, you said—”

“And she threatened me,” he continues. “She hurt our daughter, and she told me it meant nothing. She told me if I left, she would kill herself. She told me—she loved us, more than anything. I have never—never seen her so emotional, not like she was then. She called Avery horrible names, and I _agreed_ with her. Do you see? I was not a victim, Adrienne. If she abused Ada, then I stood by and I let her do it.”

“Well, yeah. You did do that. It doesn’t mean you weren’t a victim.”

“I was _willing_ —”

“Willing to be hit and threatened?”

“Yes! It never _bothered_ me, and it was not as if—she didn’t _hurt_ me. Her threats, I know—she was just scared to be alone, but I still left her and I feel—”

He stops.

Adrienne smiles at him. “You feel horrible. You feel guilty. You feel weak and ashamed and stupid. You’re pissed off at us for trying to tell you how to think, but you’re even _more_ pissed off at yourself for thinking the way you do in the first place. And you feel lost too, I bet. Lost without her to tell you what to do and who to be, and you’re afraid that maybe she will kill herself, or you’re afraid that you’ll have to pick between her and Ada—her and everyone, really, but you still sort of hope that she’ll come here and she’ll clear this misunderstanding up too and you’ll all live together happily again.”

He looks down at his hands, away from her.

“The last time I tried to contact my mother,” she says, “was five weeks ago. And it’s been over fifteen years since I left. Ely told me to put the phone down, and I said the same shit I’ve always said. Told him I owe it to her to try again, that neither of us can say she _hasn’t_ changed, and maybe she doesn’t think it’s fair if she reaches out to me first, so I should do it instead. He said I’d get hurt, and I told him to fuck off, but three hours later he was sitting on the bathroom floor with me while I cried myself to exhaustion, and then he helped me get to bed to sleep it off, like he’s always done. I _know_ it’s stupid, but sometimes it just gets in my head and won’t go away until I call her. And I worry, the older I get, you know—maybe one of them’s died, and I’d never even know it if I didn’t talk to them, right? I don’t even know what I would do if something like that happened and I just never found out about it.”

“Fifteen years is a long time,” he murmurs.

“It’s been closer to seventeen, actually. As many years as _you’ve_ been married to Cleo, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t just get rid of that, and it’s all right. You just have to make the best choice every day, even if it _is_ the harder one. Sometimes, maybe you’ll mess up, so…that’s why I’m here. Or, I mean, you don’t need to talk to _me_ if you don’t want to. Avery might judge you a bit, but it’s not like this will ever make her love you any less.”

“I suppose.” He pushes his cup away and leans back a bit. “You know, Adrienne…I have never heard you speak so candidly before.”

Her lips twitch. “What, you’re calling me a liar? I don’t lie about anything but my age.”

“No, but you do not often speak so much of the truth, either.” He hesitates, then, finally, looks up to meet her eyes again. “I do appreciate it. Truly.”

Her smile falls. She shakes her head. “Don’t thank me. Maybe I’m not the person you’d think to confide in, but if you wanted to, then…I’m just letting you know that I can’t judge you for anything you’re thinking or feeling right now, because I’ve thought and felt all of those things myself.”

“Avery doesn’t understand.”

“I know.”

“I do want to do better, though. For Ada, I mean.”

“One day,” Adrienne says quietly, “maybe you’ll think to do better for yourself too.”

She’s not surprised when he doesn’t respond to that: “It’s getting late,” he says instead. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation another day.”

She eyes him suspiciously. “I’m not entirely convinced you actually _want_ to continue this conversation.”

“I don’t.” He pushes back his chair and stands, then offers her a very tired-looking smile. “But you’ve given me much to think on, and I believe that…continuing the conversation may be the harder thing to do, but it is also the better thing to do.”

She rises too, oddly quite relieved to hear that. “Well, I’m just a call away. Or a few blocks away, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be at my house while I’m away. Or maybe you would,” she adds after a beat. “Ely is an incredibly good listener.”

“He is a nice man, but I don’t believe I’ll be spilling my deepest woes to your husband anytime soon.”

She chuckles, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. “I’d say it’s your loss, but I guess I sort of do like to keep him all for myself. Ready to go?”

It takes him a moment to nod his agreement, so she figures the best she can do for now is keep their pace slow. The buzz of the café around them guides them out the door to the crisp autumn air. They take their walk in silence; she gets the sense that he is thinking rather deeply, and she does not mind the quiet too terribly herself. After all this time, it is not necessarily difficult to talk about, but it will, she suspects, never be _easy_ , either. It does bring with it a feeling of deep gratitude, however, thinking of her family, of everything she has _now_.

Even if they _are_ taking it slowly, it is not a long walk in the slightest. They are before her front door within minutes, but Adonis grabs her wrist just as she makes to open it and she turns to ask what he’s doing, only to get a face full of his shirt. Briefly, she remains still in her surprise, and then she relaxes, smiling a bit, and reaches up to return the embrace. When he pulls away from her, he won’t meet her eyes.

If only to make him feel a little better, she says, “You suck at hugs, you know that?”

It does, thankfully, get a small laugh out of him. “I wasn’t aware there was a way to hug _badly_. I apologize, then.”

She sniffs indignantly, even as she moves to push the door open. “I hadn’t known either, until you just showed me.”

He doesn’t say anything to this, but she thinks his expression does look a little brighter as they enter the house. She slips off her shoes and leads him to the kitchen, where Avery, Ely, and Poseidon are sat at the table together. Avery twists around to look at them, one eyebrow raised.

“Nobody looks injured,” she remarks.

“I’m not even sure which one of us you’re trying to insult.”

“You, surely,” Adonis mutters. “I seem to remember you telling me many times in our youth that you could very well take me in a fight.”

Poseidon, who is hard at work on one drawing or another, glances up and says, wisely, “I think she would win.”

“I must agree, honestly. Are you ready to go? Where is Ada?”

“Probably with Nerissa in her room,” Ely speaks up. “I can go get her.”

“Thank you.”

He rises and walks around the table, offering Adrienne a quick smile and a fleeting grab and squeeze of the hand as he passes by. Once he is gone down the hall, Avery asks, “Are you okay?”

Adrienne turns to look at Adonis, frowning. He does look very tired, but he has this entire time, really. Even longer, she thinks. He has looked this way for years. Haggard, almost, but he is still quite young, not even forty…

“I’m all right,” he says. “But I would not be opposed to someone else cooking tonight.”

“Really? Ada keeps saying you’re a better cook than me, you know. It’s very offensive.”

Adrienne comes forward and sits down across from Poseidon just as Ely returns with the two girls in tow. Ada smiles brightly at Adonis when she sees him, while Nerissa just leans against the wall and watches, arms crossed over her chest. She hasn’t had many friends before; all this time spent with Ada recently has been strange for her, but Adrienne doesn’t think she is unhappy about it by any means. She and Ada are, according to Avery, actually pretty similar in this regard.

“I’m sure we’ll be by again soon,” Adonis is saying. “Thank you, Adrienne. For—for everything, really. I…”

She holds a hand up and shakes her head in vague amusement. “Don’t be stupid. It’s what friends are for. Besides, it hardly cost me anything. Don’t worry about it.”

He considers her for a moment, then offers a small smile before turning to Ada. “Let’s go, then. Perhaps we can think about dinner on the way.”

Adrienne sees Avery mouth “ _we_ ” and roll her eyes just before she turns to follow Adonis back to the foyer. Ada says, “Thanks for having me. See you later, Nerissa!” before hurrying after them, Ely trailing just behind her.

As they file out of the kitchen, Nerissa sighs, sitting down in Avery’s spot and putting her elbows on the table, forearms up and chin set in cupped hands.

“You look tired,” Adrienne says.

“Yeah, I kinda am.” She blows a strand of hair out of her face, but it just falls back exactly to where it was. She doesn’t pay it any more mind, though. “I forgot about my homework again too.”

“It’s _Saturday_.” If Poseidon’s eyes weren’t fixed so firmly on his drawing, Adrienne suspects he would be rolling them. “Mom says you’re not supposed to do homework on Saturdays.”

“There’s no _rule_.”

“It’s still dumb.”

“It’s _not_. It’s smart, ‘cause school’s just going to get harder, you know, so I should be prepared for that. You just don’t get it. You’re too young.”

Adrienne leans back, content to ignore their bickering, as Ely comes back into the room. He stops behind her and drapes his arms over her shoulders. When she tilts her head back to meet his eyes, he smiles.

“How are you?” he asks.

“All right,” she says, honestly. “I was thinking of you a lot today.”

“What for?”

“Just thinking how glad I am to have you.” She pulls herself upright, then twists around to look at him properly. “Thanks for putting up with me even when I was like that. It probably wasn’t very easy, was it?”

He kisses her quickly, softly, and murmurs, “I never ‘put up with’ you. I loved you. I’ve never been anything but happy to be with you.”

She laughs. “I _know_ that’s not true.”

“It is true. I’d always rather listen to you talk all night than sleep knowing you’re upset about something, even if it means I’m tired the next day.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by Nerissa: “ _Whatever_. What’s for supper? I’m starving.”

Ely looks past Adrienne to consider her, pensive. “Well,” he says, “I guess that would depend what you’re making.”

“I’m not eating anything _she_ cooks,” Poseidon declares, throwing his pencil down. “It’d probably kill me.”

“It would not!”

“Okay, okay.” Ely pulls away from Adrienne, holding his hands up as if in surrender. “I don’t know what we’re having. Go have your fight somewhere else and Mom and I’ll figure it out.”

“We’re not _fighting_ ,” Nerissa grumbles, but she stands and leaves the kitchen, shortly thereafter followed by Poseidon, who has left his materials strewn about on the table. Apparently, getting under Nerissa’s skin is more important right now than his most recent artistic endeavour.

Ely pulls a chair closer to Adrienne and sits down, eyes never drifting away from her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

She smiles, though she knows it probably doesn’t make her look any less exhausted than she feels. “Yeah. It sucks, though, to hear him talk like that. I don’t think it’ll be easy for him.”

“It wasn’t easy for you, either,” he points out. “I talked to Avery, anyway… She said, you know, like—Ada gets it, and she’s really more worried about him than anything else.”

“She’s happier here.”

“Yeah, Avery said that too.” He sighs. “I feel bad for her, though. She’s so young.”

“She’s a strong kid, though.” Adrienne frowns. “I wonder if it’s because of Avery or if it’s just her, but to be so young and know the situation is that messed up…it’s impressive. She’s tough. I guess that’s what makes it so hard for Adonis too, seeing how much better off she is away from Cleo, right? It’s a bit of a slap in the face when she’s fourteen and he’s damn near forty, but _he’s_ the one feeling like a lost little kid.”

“It’s no small loss, huh? But I wasn’t really asking about Ada or Adonis, you know.”

“I’m fine,” she insists. “I think it’s good for me too, to talk about it all like I actually believe half the shit I’m trying to make _him_ believe. And I’m glad that—well, we spent so long apart, but they were my family, right? And maybe they can be again if I just…”

“Forgive yourself,” he finishes. “Yeah, I agree. They’re good people.”

Adrienne lips curve up as she gets to her feet. “And _you_ spent all that time with Avery.”

He rises too, to follow after her as she moves to begin rummaging through cabinets and cupboards to think of something to make for dinner.

“She doesn’t like me much.”

Adrienne snorts. “Well, we’ve known _that_ for years.”

“I think she’s trying, though.” When she turns to look at him, he’s leaned up against the wall, thoughtful. “I mean, she’s clearly more set on securing her place in your life again than pushing me out of it. I sort of got the feeling today that everything with Adonis has made her think of you a lot, actually.”

“I don’t think I’m really following.”

“Well, she said she wasn’t sure he _would_ listen to her.” He shrugs. “Then that would be two times her best friend has chosen someone else over her when she’s really put herself out there for them, right?”

Adrienne winces. “Well, I guess so, but…”

“Maybe,” he says, “you should talk to her about it. Properly.”

She sighs. “I know, but it’s been so _long_ , and she must know I don’t really think those things anymore, right?”

“It’s not really that easy, though. I’m sure she does know that, but, well…you did something pretty awful to her, and those sorts of things, they don’t just go away. She’s probably just too prideful to admit it, and _you’re_ too scared.”

And she supposes that if, right now, she is the only person who can understand what Adonis is experiencing even a bit, Ely might very well be the same for Avery. Adrienne and Adonis are, really, at the top of the social hierarchy of this country. Maybe she isn’t rich anymore herself, but she’s never exactly been financially insecure, either, not the way Ely has been. Even aside from that, how can Adrienne ever understand how it feels to be hated for something about herself she can’t change? Perhaps her mother did find a plethora of things _wrong_ with her on any given day, and perhaps she weaponized her sexuality, too, to make her feel badly, but…she is just one person, and she was never going to be on Adrienne’s side anyway.

As far as Adrienne is aware, Medea and Jason _were_ accepting of Avery. Amery said they were, at least, and she and Adonis have never seemed bothered by it. But there is, she supposes, a social pressure, something rooted in their very culture…and Adrienne, her best friend, was supposed to protect her from that. Not use it to hurt her even more.

But it has been over fifteen years. They are both very different people now, no matter who they were back then.

“Think about it,” Ely says after a moment. He pushes off the wall and comes to stand beside her, grabbing her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere. She loves you. She won’t just let you go.”

“That’s sort of the problem,” Adrienne mutters, then stops, thinking. “Doesn’t it bother you, though?”

“What?”

“The way she loves me?”

“Oh.” He frowns. “Honestly, no. It’s not like you’re ever going to return those feelings. Besides, I think she’s more moved on than she thinks she is. She just has to figure it all out first, so…”

“So I should talk to her.”

“Right.”

“You make too much sense sometimes, you know.”

He laughs, dropping her hand to reach around her and open the cupboard door just in front of her. “Well, isn’t that why you married me? Damn, there’s really not much here, is there? I don’t think anyone even made a grocery list this week.”

How simple it is, a mere reflection. This was his job, she thinks, and yet—she does not care that he forgot, not in the slightest. She says, “We can just order something. It’s no big deal,” and it really, really isn’t.

He mulls it over, then nods, closing the cupboard and then heading out of the room to find Nerissa and Poseidon. As she watches him go, she thinks back to everything Adonis said, about _bad days_ and _good days_ , and…

She finds herself grateful, again, for her own family. It is not perfect, no. But they love each other, and they do not hurt each other, and that, she thinks, is really all she needs. Even when it is hard, even when the children get on her every last nerve—they are her family. Nothing matters more than that, and nothing, nobody—most especially not _herself_ —will take it away from her.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> if you're interested in learning more about or reading my novel series, i post all info on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) and tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)! feel free to find me for general writing updates too; i also sometimes take fic requests on both platforms!


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